Vayechi – Sorry, Not Sorry: When “It Worked Out” Isn’t an Apology
In Vayechi, Joseph’s brothers approach him after their father’s death, but their fear and his restrained response show that true reconciliation never fully happened. Why?
In Vayechi, Joseph’s brothers approach him after their father’s death, but their fear and his restrained response show that true reconciliation never fully happened. Why?
Becoming a father again has me reflecting on Vayigash: how we support our children, how we let go, and how faith guides us when we can’t protect them completely. Yosef shows that true parenthood is both care and trust.
Dreams feel meaningful even when they’re absurd. The Torah takes that seriously. Hebrew encodes a theory of dreams built on paradox—and Yosef used it to unlock Pharaoh’s dream.
Vayeishev keeps coming back to clothing—Yosef’s coat, his garment in Potiphar’s house, Yehuda’s cloak. Each one reveals identity in a surprising way. As Chanukah begins, I reflected on what our own “garments” say about us, and how the holiday pushes us to show who we really are.
A surprising kabbalistic tradition links Shechem’s corrupted desire to Rabbi Akiva’s sanctified passion.
In a moment of deep vulnerability, Rachel cried to Yaakov for help. Instead of comfort, she got a flash of anger. Was Yaakov justified or was this a tragic mistake?
The American political divide isn’t just about policy—it reflects two deep spiritual forces that have shaped the world since Creation. By exploring how Avraham, Yitzchak, and especially Yaakov balanced these forces, we can rethink what real leadership demands.
Why does Eliezer receive the shalshelet—a trope reserved for moments of profound ambivalence—when praying for a wife for Yitzchak? Through the stories of Lot, Yosef, and Moshe, the shalshelet signals intense inner conflict. Eliezer’s struggle reveals a deeper truth about prayer: not changing God, but confronting what we truly want. In an age of distraction, this ancient trope has a surprising message for us.
Miracles rarely arrive out of nowhere. They begin with what’s already in your hands. The oil in your jar, the crumbs on your table, the few minutes of light left in your candles. We keep waiting for God to start from scratch — but maybe the blessing begins in what remains.
Yitzchak’s name means laughter, but whose laughter shaped him more? Sometimes the deepest lessons we pass down aren’t our words, they’re our reactions.